


the privilege of knowing

by frosty_grass



Series: the ordeal of being known [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, M/M, POV Merlin (Merlin), arthur has got his life together, proud merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosty_grass/pseuds/frosty_grass
Summary: Bonus content for the ordeal of being known. Merlin's POV!
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: the ordeal of being known [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162238
Comments: 27
Kudos: 74





	the privilege of knowing

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already read the ordeal of being known, this is only gonna make sense if you go back and do that first! If you've already read it, welcome back! I hope you enjoy this little extra insight into their relationship, from Merlin's perspective!

Black shirt, or blue shirt? Black shirt, blue shirt? Black or blue?

Merlin holds them both in front of him in turns, settling for one and then immediately changing his mind again. These two are the only smart shirts he owns, and he suddenly finds himself wishing he’d gone shopping for a new one. Compared to the suit Arthur had worn the first time they’d met, which had probably cost half Merlin’s salary, these shirts were old, and quite possibly didn’t even fit him anymore. He’d bought the blue one for prom when he finished school nearly ten years ago, and although his narrow hips and skinny ribs might suggest otherwise, he’s definitely filled out a bit since then.

Caught in a maelstrom of indecision, and keenly aware of the time (only half an hour before Arthur’s due to show up, probably looking like bloody Adonis without even putting any effort in), Merlin makes a decision.

“Fuck it.” Before he can change his mind, he picks up the phone and dials.

“I knew you’d come round eventually, Merlin.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve finally realised that Arthur just isn’t rugged enough for you, and you’re cancelling on him last-minute and taking me out instead.”

“Shut up, Gwaine.”

_Of course_ he’d told Gwaine that he’s dating Arthur. (He’s dating Arthur! He still can’t quite believe it.) Merlin had been telling Gwaine about Arthur since the first time he’d showed up to the Camelot Conservation Crew. Gwaine, as usual, had found every opportunity to tease Merlin about his new crush, whilst also pretending to be heartbroken over the fact that Merlin wasn’t dating _him._ Merlin knows better than to encourage his best friend’s antics, so he simply ploughs on through his indignant protests, and gets straight to the point.

“Black shirt or blue shirt?”

“How am I meant to decide when I can’t even see them?”

“You’ve seen me in them a hundred times! The blue one was for prom, remember?” Merlin trips over a shoe as he tries to put his jeans on with only one free hand.

“Oh, _those_ shirts. You mean to tell me you haven’t thrown them out yet?”

“Oi! They’re in perfectly good condition!”

“Oh, Merlin Emrys. You never fail to amaze me. Definitely the black one.”

Merlin returns to the mirror, jeans around his knees, and holds up the black shirt again. “You think so?”

“Yes. The other one won’t fit. Go knock him dead, gorgeous.”

“Ideally I’d like him to survive the evening.”

“Oh, and use protection!”

Merlin hangs up, grinning, before anything more explicit can make it’s way from Gwaine’s thoughts to his mouth. Black shirt it is. He tosses his phone towards the bed, wincing when he hears it tumble to the floor instead, and hikes his jeans up all the way.

“Brush teeth, put on shirt, put on aftershave, find jacket.” Merlin repeats his to-do list to himself like a mantra, trying to distract himself from the growing pit of nerves and excitement that only serve to make him more clumsy than he already is.

Sure, he’s already been on one date with Arthur – and it’s not like they’re strangers anymore – but he so desperately wants to get this right. He can still remember, with startling clarity, the first time he saw him – to anyone else, Arthur might have looked like one of those uppity businessmen who lived in penthouse suites in the city and drank espresso at £5 a cup. But to Merlin, who had always had a scary knack for reading people, he had looked…lost. At first it had been sheer curiosity that drove Merlin to sit at the same table as this unfairly gorgeous blue-eyed stranger; curiosity about who he was and how he had ended up here, in this café, at the same time as Merlin.

He’d quickly figured out it must have been fate, or destiny, or something similar. Merlin, forever dating the bad-boy types who he quickly dumped as soon as the fun was over, had more recently found himself needing someone a little steadier, a little kinder. And Arthur had turned out to be exactly that. Merlin had been amazed at just how quickly he’d fallen for him, heart aching every time he revealed just a little more of his troubled mind, thoughts he carried with him everywhere he went. A strict, homophobic father and a job that makes him miserable. He just wants to be able to make Arthur see himself how Merlin sees him, give him the freedom to do what makes him happy. God knows Arthur deserves a break.

_If only it were that easy_ , Merlin thinks, catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror as he brushes his teeth. He knows that he can’t just _fix_ Arthur, as much as he wants to. Arthur has to do that himself. But if Merlin can help, he will.

_I’m an enabler_ , he thinks, _but for good things_. Yes, that feels right – he can’t fix Arthur’s life, but he can support him and encourage him to do so himself. The responsibility feels a little heavy on Merlin’s shoulders, but ever since Will did the same for him when he first came out, he feels as though he owes the universe a favour, like passing it on at a coffee shop. And besides, its not like he’s heading into this out of obligation. _I want to help him. I want to see him smile more often._ Merlin gets caught up for a moment, thinking of Arthur’s smile – his _true_ smile, not that fake one he uses on other people – that rare, shining thing that it took a while to drag out of him to begin with. _Yes_ , Merlin thinks. _I want more of that_.

The more pressing matter, however, is the fact that Arthur is due at his door in twenty minutes, and Arthur is _never_ late. It’s unfair, really – turning up on time is, in Merlin’s opinion, quite rude. Especially when Arthur turns up looking like _that_ , all composed and on-time and effortlessly stunning. His hair is a little longer now than when they first met, the slightest of curls licking the back of his neck and finishing off his fringe with a flick. Merlin wonders if it’s a conscious choice, or just a forgotten haircut.

Merlin swears when he notices the time, and accidentally sprays too much aftershave, choking on the fumes and wafting them away as he puts his shirt on, making absolutely certain he gets the right buttons in the right holes this time. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d embarrassed himself that way.

He debates over how many buttons to leave undone – too much skin? Not enough skin? – and then, staring at his own exposed collarbones, a thought strikes him.

The idea settles into him like warmth from a crackling fire in midwinter. It feels _right_. He smiles, a soft thing tinged with sadness, and moves to his bedside drawer, opening the bottom one and pulling out a carved wooden box. The image is a little faded, once-sharp lines now softened and rounded by so many years of his fingers tracing the image. Dragons were Merlin’s favourite animal as a child – and no, no amount of _dragons aren’t real_ could ever put him off them – and this box had been a gift, handmade by his father for his eleventh birthday. Opening the lid, Merlin pulls out the gift his father had given him on the same day six years later. A black leather cord holds a burnished metal plaque, plain on the outside but engraved on the inside.

_You are a Dragonlord._ It was what his father had always said to him, when the teasing at school got too much, or when he was nervous for an exam, or when he’d fallen and scraped his knee. It had become a mantra between them, a mantra that said _I believe in you, son_ , a mantra from which Merlin drew the confidence that over time had grown and grown to make him the carefree, energetic, happy person he is now.

Merlin fastens the band around his wrist, and pulls out the matching pendant, the one his father had always worn before he died, hanging it gently around his neck and tucking it into his shirt, next to his heart. He thinks back to it all – the grief that nearly kept him out of university, left him feeling more lost and alone than ever, took away his appetite until he was so skinny that the shirt his mother bought him for prom was two sizes smaller than what he would normally wear.

But the grief isn’t so raw now, and Merlin prefers to remember the good times with his father instead of the gaping hole he left. He always wears this jewellery for important life events – graduation, birthdays, Christmas with his mother and Uncle Gaius. It makes him feel as though his father is still with him, guiding him to all the right people and places. It seems somehow fitting that he wear it tonight.

Merlin closes the box gently and replaces it in the drawer. He quickly tidies his room – or rather, picks up all the crap from the floor and shoves it in the bottom of his wardrobe, before giving himself a final once over in the mirror, fixing his hair and straightening his shirt. He grabs his phone – now cracked, Merlin notices with a sigh – and races down the stairs, digging his smart shoes out from the pile by the front door.

He’s only just got them on, fingers pulling the laces tight, when there’s a knock on the door. A brick drops in his stomach, but it’s the good kind of anticipation. The kind that he only gets around Arthur. He checks his hair once more and takes a deep breath.

_You are a Dragonlord, Merlin._

He opens the door.

***

_One year later._

“Mmmph.”

“Hmm?”

“Mmm.”

“Ow.”

“Huh?”

“Ow. Arthur, you’re crushing my arm.”

“Mmmm.”

“Arthur. _Arthur_. Come on, idiot, you’re going to be late for work.”

Finally, Arthur stirs properly, rolling over to face Merlin, trapping his arm even tighter between himself and the mattress. Merlin winces, but it turns into a smile when he sees Arthur’s sleepy face, all messy hair and soft blue eyes and a pout.

“Hmmm. What if I’d rather stay in bed?”

Arthur’s fingers trail over Merlin’s ribs, then down his spine, before he grins like a child and squeezes Merlin’s arse in the palm of his hand.

“Oi! Don’t think you can seduce me into also being late. You’re a bad influence on me, Pendragon.” Merlin finishes off his phrase in a low, slow voice, his lips right next to Arthur’s ear, before taking the soft skin between his teeth and giving a gentle tug.

“Mmmmm. _Merlin_.” Arthur’s arms tighten around his body, but Merlin just grins into his neck as he starts to pull away.

“Come on, you! Rise and shine!” Merlin struggles out of Arthur’s grasp, and throws the duvet off them both, a rush of cool air hitting him hardest where Arthur’s warmth still lingers on his skin. Suppressing a shiver, he rolls out of bed, yawning, and stretches his arms above his head. “Shake a leg!”

When Arthur doesn’t respond, he turns to find him studying the entire length of his very stretched-out, very naked body. The lust is clear in Arthur’s eyes – Merlin can always tell what his boyfriend is thinking – but as much as he absolutely wants to give in, climb back into bed, and let Arthur do whatever he pleases with his body, he also knows that today is a big day for Arthur, and no amount of sexual tension is going to get in the way of that.

As always, Merlin knows how to turn Arthur off just as well as he knows how to turn him on. Pulling on a clean pair of boxers (his second-favourite ones, pink with elephants on), Merlin plasters an enormous cheesy grin across his face, and fights the urge to laugh at Arthur’s pouty frown.

“Up and at ‘em!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Not until you get out of bed.”

“I’m not getting out until you get back in.”

“Nonsense. Let’s have you, lazy daisy…” he trails off at the look on Arthur’s face, and narrowly ducks under the pillow that comes flying his way.

The constant banter between them is a welcome development, in Merlin’s opinion. At the beginning, Arthur was a little more shy, a little more polite, as if he was constantly expecting Merlin to turn around and reject him at any moment. But now, he’s confident, and cheeky, and ridiculously infuriating, and Merlin couldn’t possibly love him any more if he tried.

Nevertheless, he throws the pillow back with slightly too much force, and uses Arthur’s distraction to escape to the bathroom to get himself ready for work.

He next encounters Arthur in the kitchen, dressed for work, cooking their breakfast. He takes a moment to just watch him – the pride in his posture, the certainty in every movement – before Arthur looks up to catch him staring.

They eat breakfast together, and Merlin definitely _doesn’t_ have to go change his shirt because Arthur flicked a spoonful of porridge at him, and then they’re both getting their coats on by the front door, elbows finding ribs in the narrow hallway.

“Right, you.” Merlin grabs Arthur’s lapels and fixes him with a stare that says _do as I say_. “Today is your big speech. You are going to be fantastic, the public are going to love you, and the museum are going to see for themselves just how brilliant your ideas are. Got it?”

Arthur nods.

Merlin couldn’t be prouder. Eleven months ago, Arthur had resigned from being a lawyer with immediate effect. The fallout with his father had been horrendous – Merlin had to physically break them apart at one point – but once things had settled down, the effect on Arthur’s mood had been incredible.

In his new job at the museum, Arthur had grown into someone who knew what he wanted, and wasn’t afraid to go and get it. Today was the culmination of his latest mad idea – an LGBTQ+ festival at the museum. While trawling the archives, Arthur had picked out his favourite pieces that showcased LGBTQ+ relationships through time – letters, paintings, sculptures – and convinced the museum to put on an exhibit. He wanted to highlight the overlooked, to showcase the neglected. He wanted everyone to see what mattered to him. He’d even managed to get them to fundraise for a local charity.

Now, standing in their peeled-paint yellow hallway, Merlin turns to study Arthur’s profile in the cracked mirror. He only gets a few moments before Arthur turns to meet his gaze in their reflection.

A totally different man stares back at him now than the one he’d sat opposite in the café, and Merlin can’t help it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s got you so happy?”

“Oh, the usual.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

Arthur blushes, eyes momentarily flicking to the floor as he smiles. Merlin pushes his chin back up with gentle fingers, makes Arthur look at his own reflection.

“You’re incredible.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“No. I want you to know how proud I am of you. Of everything you’ve done. Of who you’ve become.”

Arthur turns back to Merlin now, dragging his gaze away from the mirror with a steady palm on his cheek, and rests his forehead against Merlin’s.

Merlin’s eyes close as he breathes in Arthur’s scent, homely and sweet and _perfect_. When Arthur speaks his voice is soft, sincere.

“I do know. You remind me every day.”

“Good. Can I remind you of something else?”

“Go on?”

“I love you, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur’s lips are on Merlin’s before the last of his words have even left him. He tastes of toothpaste, and he’s warm, and it’s over far too quickly for Merlin’s liking. But then he speaks, and his words ring so honest and true that Merlin thinks he might die of happiness.

“I love you too, Merlin Emrys.”


End file.
